Outside Zecora’s Hut, Everfree Forest
Monday
0900 ZULU

Big Macintosh rapped twice on the door, glancing furtively around as if he was being watched. Perhaps it was the healthy paranoia of a visitor to the Everfree, or perhaps his searching eyes were looking for a more terrestrial threat.

Yellow streaks between the bushes, could it be--

The door silently opened inwards, and a zebra mare by the name of Zecora (you might know her from such classics as Encino Man, the Fugative, and as a major character in several episodes of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. But I wouldn't expect a profligate such as you to understand.)

“Big Macintosh!" She shouted, louder than was strictly necessary to contact a pony less than five feet in front of her.
Mac let out a startled yelp, almost leaping out of his horseshoes (the finest iron shoes to be found in the old shed in the south orchard, dating back almost 19 years and only mildly rusted to show for it; Tetanus isn’t a big concern for a simpleton such as Mac), and completely leaping off the ground and onto an overhanging tree branch, as Zecora continued her rhyming unabated.
"My dear young friend,
Come on in, let outdoors see your rear end.”

Mac held onto the branch, shaking slightly. It was a little pathetic.

Zecora, used to this, simply rolled her eyes and began rhyming again.
“I said, come inside,
And here we can hide
While you lie down and give me a ride.”

“Eewhut?” Asked the red pony from his perch, cracking open an eye to view the speaker, about two feet below him.

Zecora stamped her hoof in irritation.
“Get down here postehaste
There is no time to waste!
We must be quick and swift
Lest they ask if you lift!”

Mac’s response to this delayed by the sudden unexpected release of the limb he was hanging on by the tree it was attached to, and, in accordance with basic Newtonian physics, fall hard on his back. Through the haze of pain, he was able to mutter, “Still not gettin’ it.”
“Getchyo ugly mud pony plot in my hut before I open a can of whoop-flank on yo ass!”
Mac still had no idea what she was on about, but she seemed pretty upset, so he decided to ask her something she might have a more positive reaction to.
"May I please come inside? I don't like it out here."
Zecora sighed.
"Yes, you coward, come on down," under her breath adding, "if you were more of a pussy, you'd be wearing a gown."

She trotted through the door, head lowered and breathing slowly. Mac took a few steps inside her cluttered hut and sat next to her on the floor as she withdrew a small bag from the pocket dimension every pony has in the small of their back, and began to speak.

"I have seen the stallions and mares of great size
And one thing they all have in common is heart;
Within their love the secret lies,
Else all of us soon shall fart.”

Mac was unsure how to respond. On one hoof, the zebra hadn't picked up on his interest in her. On the other, she was babbling like the silver-tongued foreign devil Granny Smith always insisted she was. With this inner turmoil, Mac took a step back as Zecora’s hoof released the bag, a cloud of green dust spreading through the air.

In the swirling vermillion visions, shapes began to form. The dark outline of a pegasus pony appeared, wings outstretched as its petite, marelike head turned around as if taking in it's surroundings. Visibly, its stomach began to expand. It fell back on its haunches, hooves gripping the growing gut, perhaps hoping to no avail that it would stop and go back to normal. It did not, and the image continued on in this vain for nearly a minute, gut bloating, flanks expanding, chin doubling as it scrabbled in place, panic evident despite the lack of a face.
Finally it stopped growing, just shy of escaping its bounds in the smoke, the tips of its hooves flopping uselessly from flabby arms sucked partway into this bloated visage of gluttony. The wings had grown too, feathers sticking haphazardly out of fat extensions on its back that could only generously be called limbs.

Zecora looked back at Mac as she again spoke.
"These ponies have problems, of that there is no doubt,
But what could cause such an unhealthy break-out?
They eat, fuck and sleep and eat more between,
And fart as if they have partaken in bean,
But what could it be, that would cause such a scene?”

As the zebra trailed off, the red stallion felt the need to sit down. The floor was much more comfortable than he’d expected, almost like he was sitting on a cushion. A glance down proved this assumption false, although who knew what crazy enchantments the wooden planks below him might hold.

Macintosh wasn’t a gamblin’ pony, but he’d put money on Zecora having the finest ass in all of Equestria. So would his penis, as she bent over to stare into an empty teacup.

‘She got da ghetto bootay…’ He thought, biting his lip, which for some reason felt slightly plumper than usual. ‘Probably allergic to something in here’, were his next thoughts. Notifying his host of this unpleasant development were not amongst them, as the striped rear before him delved halfway into a cauldron pot, shaking as the owner moved around inside doing her esoteric work.

“Macintosh, I see at last!
It is indeed love that causes this…” Zecora trailed off again, her eyes focused on the lower half of her guest’s body.

“Whut?” Asked the oblivious earth pony. Following her gaze, he too looked down, and discovered what she saw that was so enrapturing.

It was his butt. It was much more... Plush, than it should have been, squishing out visibly along the floor. His rear hooves were spread out slightly more because of this, and looking closely, his chiselled abs were beginning to soften. Finally, Zecora spoke.
“Big Macintosh, o stallion so fine,
Answer this truthfully, just this one time:
For me, but a zebra, cut off from her kind,
Do you feel compassion, indeed, love of mine?”

Mac somehow managed to blush visibly despite his red coat. “Ah… Wouldn’t use such fancy words, but…” he muttered, rubbing his foreleg with the opposite hoof. Between them, he noticed, was the fuzzy feeling of his arm coming into contact with a somewhat larger belly.

"Stay here, never fear, I shall fix this, just remain near." She spoke, quickly as she turned away and started rummaging through a trunk.

Mac, meanwhile sat alone with his expansion. His butt was already beginning to feel like bags of cement, and the increasingly-taut belly pressed into his growing erection was causing unwelcome sensations throughout his less-than-fit body.

“Zecora, ya sure you can fix this?” He asked through teeth clenched in firm defiance of the more… Pleasurable aspects of his slowly encroaching rear. He was aware, preternaturally so, of every square inch of flesh as it spread out across the floor. The slightest motion sent shivers down his spine, and the flab pressed around the growing erection in front of him did nothing to ease his fears.

There was a moment of silence, and Mac looked up. Zecora’s lithe body was relaxed, her eyes closed as she balanced upside down on a stick that may or may not just be a plastic walking stick from a cheap camping store. It was a curious sight, the zebra, snoring gently, hooves straight out at the sides, a faint green glow around her head as she rocked gently back and forth...

With an almost audible snap, and Zecora’s eyes shot open, which Mac noticed had shrunk to tiny pinpricks. He didn’t have much time to register this fact, as she immediately turned around and set to work mucking about with her potions. In a flurry of motion, she’d mixed a furiously red beaker with a gourd of a lumpy substance that could only be described as ‘utterly unappetizing’.
Mac paid no mind to this particular choice of words.
He is not the author, nor is he the reader or anyone who might possibly have some understanding of the concept of the fourth wall.
Still, foreshadowing or whatever, amiright?

When Mac returned from… Whatever that just was, he found Zecora standing before him, holding a bowl of some blue-ish liquid in her outstretched hooves.
“Macintosh, dear pony of mine,
Drink this brew, and you shall feel fine.”
Some ponies might take issue with Zecora’s emotionless voice, staring eyes and soulless expression, but Mac was in too much of a hurry to care. He wanted to get back to normal soon, before that little voice at the back of his mind took over and he began to… Enjoy it.
Naturally, he gripped the bowl in two hooves, flabby forelegs jiggling slightly, and chugged the entire thing down in five seconds. Before he was even done, he began to feel something strange, something new and entirely unwelcome.
“Nhh... Ah don't feel so..."
Mac’s belly began to gurgle, as he felt bubbles of gas slide their way up his esophagus.
*urp*
He burped rather quietly, demurely covering his mouth with a hoof. The striped devil took no notice, as she had already turned away and began mucking about with her potions again.
"This is *urp!* strange an' *braap!* unacceptable!" he shouted between oral expulsions of gas. The last one was particularly loud, and probably smelled rather foul, but I'm not going to get into that at the moment as it would seem that Zecora had returned, this time with a plate balanced on one hoof like a waiter. On this plate sat two small green bottles. One was marked 'Weight Gain', and the other was marked 'Dangerous Hallucinogen’.
"My, my, you are enlarged," she said, leaning over and gently stroking his bulging stomach, "I wonder what would happen if this potion supercharged?"
"Yyyehh... No!" He gasped, conflict clear in his voice. He flailed with his hooves, knocking the tray out of her grip and into the air. Their eyes followed the arcing of the bottles as if in slow motion, as the two collided in mid-air.

Everything was very silent for a moment.

And then there was a roar.

Author's Note

I hope I haven't screwed up too badly, I just wrote like a thousand words, it's 6 am and I've got work this afternoon.

No editor anymore, he/she/it jumped ship months ago after a particularly off-colour joke involving his fat mother, John de Lancie, and the decomposing corpse of late Baroness Thatcher. If you notice any blatant errors or inconsistencies, please let me know so I can beat myself over the head with this Louisville Slugger I've affectionately named 'Grammar 101', and maybe listen to Safety Dance on repeat or something.

It's good to be back. Now I'm going to sleep.